deepundergroundpoetry.com
Words of Fire
- Words of Fire -
In recent sorrow, I had a mind to sing as if in heroic verse,
Of the wrath of gods and spirits in ancient wars embattled.
But so much the poorer, as one who has but an empty purse,
Is one given much to anger, and that truth within me rattled!
Fair Ishtar, goddess of love and war, herself, did laugh on high,
For it is human to be caught betwixt anger and love in turns...
Far more human than, to ever our inner emotions coldly deny,
And so was I moved to embrace passion, that eternally yearns.
None was it, dear reader, who of old made poets a mad breed,
But rather in all hearts lies: madness and rationality together...
Which in the poetic soul are as two halves of one divine creed,
That of the Muses, who bind us to their spirit with gilded tether.
What could I sing, if of Ishtar I spoke only of her beauty alone,
As if she had not done mighty deeds before the count of time?
Far more are legends, than the stuff of mortal flesh and bone,
And far more is poetry, than the measure of each flowing line!
So great is the domain of gods and glory that words often fail,
But of love, it is an easy matter to comprehend the nature of.
And so I sing of passion, the fire of love, and its' power I hail,
For it is greater than all the powers of fate that govern above.
My lyre is not the gilded harp of Apollo, playing eternal strains,
But in my humble verse I aspire to Olympian levels of beauty.
If but one heart is delighted by my own art and all its' refrains,
Then I have served the Muses well, and done my poetic duty.
Hearing this, my thought, did Ishtar say unto me with grace...
Oh poet, thou art beloved of the Muses for all thy dedication!
And so on bended knee, I beheld the goddess's fairest face,
Thanking her, for such patronage that did fill me with elation.
I had thought that words of fire were no longer thus beloved,
By a time that has changed much since first I raised my voice.
And yet, I came to see that a love for such poetry is not dead,
Thusly I remain to entertain, lyre in hand, by a blessed choice.
Let the contests of gods and giants rest for a time in slumber,
This poem is about remembering love, and all passion's glories.
Let love come to me, and be my muse so that I will remember,
Words of fire to light up the heavens, to craft my epic stories!
In recent sorrow, I had a mind to sing as if in heroic verse,
Of the wrath of gods and spirits in ancient wars embattled.
But so much the poorer, as one who has but an empty purse,
Is one given much to anger, and that truth within me rattled!
Fair Ishtar, goddess of love and war, herself, did laugh on high,
For it is human to be caught betwixt anger and love in turns...
Far more human than, to ever our inner emotions coldly deny,
And so was I moved to embrace passion, that eternally yearns.
None was it, dear reader, who of old made poets a mad breed,
But rather in all hearts lies: madness and rationality together...
Which in the poetic soul are as two halves of one divine creed,
That of the Muses, who bind us to their spirit with gilded tether.
What could I sing, if of Ishtar I spoke only of her beauty alone,
As if she had not done mighty deeds before the count of time?
Far more are legends, than the stuff of mortal flesh and bone,
And far more is poetry, than the measure of each flowing line!
So great is the domain of gods and glory that words often fail,
But of love, it is an easy matter to comprehend the nature of.
And so I sing of passion, the fire of love, and its' power I hail,
For it is greater than all the powers of fate that govern above.
My lyre is not the gilded harp of Apollo, playing eternal strains,
But in my humble verse I aspire to Olympian levels of beauty.
If but one heart is delighted by my own art and all its' refrains,
Then I have served the Muses well, and done my poetic duty.
Hearing this, my thought, did Ishtar say unto me with grace...
Oh poet, thou art beloved of the Muses for all thy dedication!
And so on bended knee, I beheld the goddess's fairest face,
Thanking her, for such patronage that did fill me with elation.
I had thought that words of fire were no longer thus beloved,
By a time that has changed much since first I raised my voice.
And yet, I came to see that a love for such poetry is not dead,
Thusly I remain to entertain, lyre in hand, by a blessed choice.
Let the contests of gods and giants rest for a time in slumber,
This poem is about remembering love, and all passion's glories.
Let love come to me, and be my muse so that I will remember,
Words of fire to light up the heavens, to craft my epic stories!
Published 27th Jan 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
reading list entries 0
comments 2
reads 859
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
28th Jan 2012 5:42pm
17th Sep 2012 7:07am
Why thank you, my friend! How kind of you to say so grand a thing. I very much appreciate it. :)
